When Detectives Crash
by ravenoak21
Summary: Lestrade experiences Sherlock falling asleep, literally at the end of a case.


**This is a one shot that has been taking up space in my head for awhile so I decided to get it out and make room for the other two stores that are clamoring for attention.**

**As always. I own nothing pertaining to Sherlock Holmes Canon nor BBC Sherlock.**

"Need you down at deserted garden just beyond Carlston Mews. GL"

"What has changed? SH"

"The doll is in a carrier's bag and the body is still warm. A bunch of kids heard a commotion and came to check. They said the victim was still alive when they put the call in. GL"

"Is the site secure? SH"

"I have people blocking all exits from the mews. GL"

"I'll come. SH"

"Thank you. GL"

Inspector Greg Lestrade closed the call knowing the only reply to that last text would be Sherlock's physical appearance on scene. He returned to the cordoned off area marked by the blue on white police tape. The body lay face down, the back of the head bashed in just like another two victims, except they had been laid out on their backs, their eyes closed. The doll that was in the carrier's bag was also similar with the other two cases, except in the fact that the doll had not been in a bag but tucked into arm of the dead person that had been crossed over the chest.

Lestrade and his team had been making very little progress trying to puzzle out what significance the doll might have. Nor had they been able to tie the first two murders to any similarities pertaining to work, friends, acquaintances, nothing but the damned dolls and now here he stood, looking at a third. Lestrade's musing was interrupted by his radio crackling to life.

"Holmes says you invited him., sir?"

"I did. Let him through."

"Very good, sir."

Lestrade watched as the tall, lanky "consulting detective" strode into view. Lestrade held out the latex gloves and shoe covers. He knew the young man would balk at using them, taking them tactlessly, but he was learning and would wear them on site. Sherlock did indeed take them with very little grumbling, slipping them on almost absentmindedly, his full attention on the dead man.

"You look beat Sherlock. What in god's name have you been up to."

"Working a couple of cold cases for Hopkins."

"Plus this one, when did you last sleep?"

"It hardly matters right now. I'll sleep when the case is closed. I usually do."

The younger man's eyes had began to flicker around the area then seemed to focus on a point in or near the garden. Lestrade could almost feel the younger man's body quiver slightly and was put to mind of a hunter going on point and looked in the same direction Sherlock's gaze was pinned on.

"You said the body was still warm and there have been people mulling around the area since the call?"

"Yeah. Still alive, is what the caller said."

Sherlock seemed to be only half listening as he took a couple of slow steps in the direction of the garden. Then all hell seemed to break lose. A figure broke cover and Sherlock seemed to be only a half step behind. Sprinting as the runner headed for the mews and disappearing into it. Lestrade was only a few steps behind the young self proclaimed detective.

The runner was fast but Sherlock was having no trouble keeping a few steps behind though neither he nor Lestrade could seem to gain much. Finally the tall young man let the Yarder run beside him.

"Keep after him, Inspector. I'm going to try to cut him off."

Lestrade grumbled a bit as Sherlock peeled off down an alley way but put on a burst of speed to gain ground on the runner and keep him to distracted to try to pull a disappearing act in a crowd or pull into a busy shopping area or store.

The chase went on for several blocks when it came to an abrupt end. Lestrade's heart jump when a figure fairly exploded out of an alley tackling the runner and taking him down in a flurry of arms and legs. Lestrade pulled to a stop beside the two men on the ground only taking a few brief moments to realize that neither one was moving. Quickly the Inspector dropped to his knees and peered into Sherlock's face, finding it in repose, eyes closed.

"What the hell...Sherlock?"

His only response was a soft, sonorous exhale, the young man's head nestled on the unconscious runners chest, lulled to sleep by the primal beating of the human heart.


End file.
